Harini

Harini is a young woman poet based in Singapore. We met when I facilitated a masterclass at the legendary Sing Lit Station, as part of my Australia/ South East Asia book tour of 2018. Harini is just beginning her journey into literature, but is already creating sweeping cinematic pieces like this one below.

This poem is guttural, sparse and essential, a brilliant evocation of the after-effects of sexual abuse; that feeling that something is trapped inside us, some new thing about to be born, some monster.

When Harini has gained a little more confidence, I hope to also publish her full name along with further examples of her work.

 

Flies

  1. The little girl is sitting in a living room.

There is a rumble within the sofa

Travelling

Up her buttocks

Across her chest

Into her eyes.

It’s the kind of shudder that births dead things.

Fault lines are spewing flies.

There is a cloud of them over her head.

 

  1. There is a little worm sat next to her.

She tucks the soles of her feet away from it

She knows it will tickle.

She’s too busy looking to the flies to know

The path it took into her chest.

 

  1. Tummies are not made for worms.

Wombs must not birth flies.

 

  1. Did you know flies are attracted to dead things?

 

  1. The girl will not know when they leave her.

The craters in her skin, volcanoes pouring pus from which they emerge

Unscathed

Tails hooking, pincers tearing,

climbing, sucking, eating.

Eating.

 

  1. The little girl is sitting in a living room.

There is a rumble in her womb

Travelling

Seeking release

It flips her insides upon her skin

For all to be freed.

All she is

Is a cloud of flies.